The Battle Of Reporters
by clueingforlooks221B
Summary: Thorin is a famous actor and Bilbo is a media reporter for a small not well known station. (BilboXThorin)


I'm not sure which is worse, the noise or the people. Luckily we got to the red carpet early or else we would have been stuck in the back.

But now, being trapped in the crowd, being in the back sounds nice. I'm sure the air is much more breathable, and it's a lot cooler.

Gandalf would not have been happy though if we came back with our only footage being a massive crowd. Then zoomed in blurry images of the celebrities far away.

Suddenly a commotion kicks up in the crowd. Like a herd of cattle disturbed, everyone at once starts howling shifting. In the crowd I can make out who the people are calling.

Thorin Oakenshield.

The first actual good celebrity to come down the carpet tonight.

Bofur hollers over the roaring crowd. He is struggling to get a grip on his large camera, balancing on his shoulder for support. The crowd starts edging closer to the railings, forcing me forwards as well. I try to slink backwards but with the mass amount of people it's impossible.

There's no way an actor as big as Thorin Oakenshield will come to a station as small as mine. It's not worth being trampled when I'll just end up disappointed.

Shoulders knock into mine and chests pound into my back. I stare back in the massive crowd, trying to locate Bofur, but am blinded by the flashing lights.

I blink rapidly, trying to clear my vision. But the white spots laugh, continuing to dance across my vision.

Someone steps on my foot and I clench my teeth in pain. I walk forward, curses flying in my brain. Impatient assholes. I don't know what they're all thinking, Thorin isn't going to talk to the majority of these people. He'll talk to Lonely Mountain and Erebor, maybe Ironhill if they're lucky.

My back throbs and the screaming pierces my ears. I really wish that somebody else from the station got called out here. Normally Ori takes the big events. He really should have been here, he's has this way of getting good people. He got Dwalin, which is the best this station has ever gotten.

Stupid Gandalf sent me on purpose. He told me that I need to be sent out to big events more.

Personally I prefer writing articles. It's much more quiet and peaceful.

Someone elbows me and I clutch my microphone tighter. I growl, but it's not heard over all the screeching. Why do all these bloody people bother yelling this loud, he's not going to hear them! What are they thinking, that he's going to call them out personally?

My chest connects with the black tape and the people pushing into me force me forwards. If it was not for the tape I would have fallen. "Bloody hell! I'm up as far as I can go!" I scream but it goes unheard.

Screw this.

I twist around and spot a gap between two reporters. Quickly I shoot through it, taking my chance. I straighten out my black vest, panting and searching for Bofur. He is fighting through the crowd, "BILBO!" He screams. He roughy shoves past the reporters, and they all glare harshly at him. I wince, but of course Bofur doesn't care. He never did have the decency.

He shoots out of the crowd and tumbles forwards. Luckily he catches himself, all while keeping a steady grip on his camera.

He's only broken it once, shockingly. With how reckless he is I would've expected it to be every time he goes out on a job.

"Bilbo what're doing? Yer goin in the wrong direction!" He hollers.

"Nope, no." I hold my hands up. "It's not worth it, I'm not doing this." He glares at me, opening his mouth. I shake my head, feeling the curls on my head bouncing, "Come on we'll interview someone smaller, like Bard."

Bofur scrunches up his nose, "Bard? Bilbo ya know no one likes Bard!"

He grips my shoulder and spins me around. The world around me whirls into blacks and whites. "Ye've gotta shove them!"

I shake my head, and roll my eyes. The crowd around me gets even louder and I know my ears are going numb.

I stand on my tiptoes, and almost faint at the sight. Thorin Oakenshield is coming this way! He's so close!

He's a lot shorter then I pictured.

"Excuse me?" I call out, but I know that it isn't nearly loud enough. I can't even hear myself.

I try again a little louder, and it isn't much better than my first attempt.

"Yer never going to get his attention that way! Ye've gotta be more aggressive!" His hand roughly shoves me forward, and I fall from the force of it. I tumble into the poor reporter in front of me. He shifts, and Bofurs hand is back, shoving me in the small space that the reporter in front of me just created. I yelp, and am back at the black tape.

The screams are deafening. I clear my throat, and my saliva halts at the sight of him.

He is even hotter in person.

I never knew a man that could work having long hair, but man he can. And the way his silver suit fits, it hugs his muscles tightly and shows his form off beautifully. It also is the exact same shade as the silver streaks in his hair. There's another thing he can pull off, silver streaks.

Bofur's insane, there's no way I'm getting an interview with a man like him.

"OAKENSHIELD!" The man next to me roars. His voice is so deep and enhancing, like a snake coiling and squeezing itself down my spine. Immediately I know who it is. I glance over and my jaw drops. He's so tall. It's Smaug, the most famous reporter. He dominates the media; nothing stands in his way.

Oh yeah, I'm doomed.

"THORIN OVER HERE!" A lady screeches on my other side, and I'm not sure who she is.

"Um excuse me?" I yell over the crowd, cheeks burning in humiliation.

At times I forgot that I'm an amateur (if I can even call myself that, I'm really not even a real reporter I never went to school for it), but then moments like this painfully remind me.

"Excuse me?" I say again, but it lacks the courage and volume that my voice held before.

His turns his head, and his blue eyes meet mine. I tense and it startles me so bad that I choke on my own spit. Flames lick up my cheeks and my ears begin to boil. My heart halts, then kicks up into full speed.

Then he does something insane. His lips twitch into a crooked smile and his blue eyes sparkle in amusement. They turn dark, and I swear that predatoriness lurks within them.

Thorin Oakenshield hardly ever smiles.

But that's not the craziest thing he does, he starts to walk over to me. His eyes meet me dead on, and I feel trapped. I can't move.

Get a grip on yourself Baggins. I'm not some teenage fangirl.

I'm a middle aged fan boy.

No, no I'm a reporter. This could be my huge break. No this is going to be the whole stations break, we're going to get so much exposure!

Great, Gandalf will send me to big events all the time now.

He gets closer and I shake the nerves off, and grin. Once he gets close enough I open my mouth and suck in a deep breath, "Hel-"

Smaug shoots in front of me. It's so unexpected that I tumble backwards, landing straight into Bofur's chest. His camera jolts and he curses.

The crowd around me moves forward, growing even tighter than before.

Smaug stands right in front of me, successfully blocking me and casting me in his huge shadow.

That bastard!

I stand up straight and people flood in front of me. There's no space left, there's no way I can get back up in the front.

Damn it.

Disappointment squeezes my heart and the blood comes to a halt, leaving my veins cold.

I can't believe this.

I try to breath in, but air refuses to come in. I clutch to Bofur's arm and take a sharp exhale, forcing the air into my lungs. Bofur rests his hand on my shoulder and stands me up. "Hey hey Bilbo its okay it wasn't yer fault-" The rest of his words fall numb to the loudness of the crowd.

I turn around, and the world shifts focus around me. I gasp in more air, and it slowly trickles inside me. The air is so hot and tight.

Screw this I'm going home.

I never wanted to be a reporter anyways, I wanted to be a journalist. I mean I am a journalist, but Gandalf forced me out as a reporter because he needs more people.

A hand roughly grabs my shoulder, bitting into my shoulder blade. I hiss out between clenched teeth, and the little air that was inside me slips out. Out of the corner of my eye I look at the hand. It is huge, tan, and covered in hair.

I am about to turn around and start yelling, but Bofur's eyes stop me. They have gone wide and his pupils are small. His mouth hangs open a tad, and the edges of his lips are dragging his mouth down.

Slowly I turn, dread seeping through my bones and making them stiff. Light crashes in, so bright that my eyes automatically squeeze shut.

I force my eyes open against the pain of the brightness and my eyes sting in protest. Where did this light come from? It was so dark before.

The mans hand grips my other shoulder, and he hauls me up over the railing. I flail, but his hands crush me which force me to stay still.

His shirt is black and he has a name tag that reads Beorn. He roughly sets me down and I stumble, but regain balance. The crowd has gotten quieter, and Bofur is on the other side of the black tape now. He holds his camera up, and his usual goofy grin is back.

I glance up at the strange man, Beorn. He looks over me, but is shorter than Smaug. His hair sits up strangely on his head, looking like a triangle. From his cheeks down is covered in hair.

He smiles down at me, but then his face hardens. He walks over to Smaug, and Smaug's face gets beat red. His nose scrunches and he grows rigid. Smaug opens his mouth, revealing very sharp canine teeth, and they get into a heated debate.

Smaug looks at me, his eyes narrowing into a glare so harsh that I swear I can see red around the edges of his pupil.

Then Smaug turns and the crowd parts, letting him through. Even from here I can see the smoke that is radiating off him. He storms away and the cameras start widely flashing. Video cameras all point towards him as he exits.

I watch his figure until he vanishes.

Everyone is silent, and I feel like everyone's eyes are on me.

Luckily Thranduil chooses that moment to walk out, and the noise picks up to full blast again.

A throat clears from behind me, and I turn around.

Thorin Oakenshield is standing right behind me.

There's something I never thought I would say.

He is looking out to where Smaug exited, a smug smirk pulling against his lips. "I've always wanted to do that, I just never had the right excuse."

I connect the pieces and gape up at him. "You didn't have to do that-"

He shakes his head, "Oh no trust me, it was my pleasure. He's a bastard."

I frown. For a minute I thought he did it because he shoved me.

But what am I thinking? This isn't personal, this is business.

I clear my throat, "We should get to the interview." It comes out colder then I intended.

He blinks down at me, the smirk vanishing from his mouth. He sighs, running his fingers through his hair.

Damn if that isn't the hottest thing that I've ever seen..

"I'm sorry that wasn't very professional. It's just we have a past. Then seeing him go as low as to shove you out of the way." He scowls and my heart starts to skip.

A loose smile slivers across my lips, and I try to hide it. He gazes at me and his mouth twitches in amusement.

Then he clears his throat again, staring past me. I glance behind me and Bofur's smile is even wider somehow.

I hope he's not filming us.

I hold up my microphone and Bofur situates himself behind the camera, then gives me the thumbs up.

The interview goes well. Better then well, actually, it goes perfectly. I expected it to be awkward, especially given with what just happened, but we talk like old friends. I thought that I would feel uncomfortable around him, but I've never felt so serene with a stranger.

Once Bofur gives me another thumbs up, I hold my microphone down and look up at him. "Thank you so much for the interview!"

He stares down at me, but his face is serious. I can't tell what he's thinking. It frightens me a bit. Was the interview all for publicity? Is that not how he really acts?

Fear coils in my chest, and pushes words out of my throat.

"I mean I know our station isn't that huge, and that I'm not the best reporter-" He pulls me into his arms, successfully cutting me off.

Right in front of everyone. On the red carpet.

I'm sure half of the room is photographing this right now.

"I'm glad. I want you. All the other interviewers are stuck up or fake. It's nice to see a change." He speaks into my ear, and his breath mingles with the inside of my ear.

I notice that he stressed want. He didn't say wanted, he said want.

He hugs me much longer than a friend would. Awkwardness chokes me. I can feel people's eyes on me.

I pull away from him, but he keeps a light grip on my arm. "Do you have a card?"

The words take a moment for me to process, but once I do I nod. Shakily I pull one out of my pocket and hand it to him. He holds it in his large hands, twiddling it between his fingers. "It's okay if I call you on this? And I won't be calling because I want an interview." He looks at me through his lashes and flashes me a smirk, showing me his perfectly white teeth.

He can't be serious.

My face starts to go numb because of how hot it is. I don't trust myself to say anything, for I fear a squeak will come out, so instead I nod.

He stands there for a moment, just staring down at me. His eyes are moving rapidly, and he seems to be pondering something. Before I know what he is doing he leans down, quickly planting a kiss on my burning cheek. Then his mouth is back by my ear, whispering, "Oh, and don't interview Thranduil."

And just like that, he's walking away.

While he is completely in composure, strutting down the carpet like he owns it, I'm a blustering mess. Bofur calls out excitedly, "I got it! I got the whole thing on film!"

Then I realize what just happened and where I am.

Meekly I walk off the carpet and Bofur holds up the black tape for me. I crawl under it, flashing him a thankful smile.

I stand up straight, then let out a shaky exhale, "Did that really just happen?"

He bursts out laughing, and soon I can't help but join him. We head out, and I'm relieved to be leaving.

We got all the footage we need I think. Should be enough to get people talking.

Maybe being a reporter isn't so bad after all.


End file.
